The Devil's Share
by orthankg1
Summary: Oliver dies in prison, his body is identified, he is VERY dead. But then a package arrives for Agent Watson and she starts to doubt his death. And then there are other things, who is Baba Yaga, hounding Diaz's men across the globe, using monstrous methods that terrify even the bravest among them? And how does he fit in? Chapter 4 takes place on Earth-38.
1. Chapter 1

**OWWWW!**

 **This hurts, I mean this REALLY HURTS. I have, for a number of reasons I won't get into right now, lived most of my life in near constant pain. Everything from a dull pain in the background to jaw clenching to tear-inducing.**

 **But this, this might be one of the most painful things I have ever had to do.**

 **Okay, just got to get it over and done with.**

 **Arrow was really clever.**

 **…**

 **…**

 **…**

 **Yep, that hurt.**

 **I have skipped most of this season of Arrow because after all the pain and displeasure the last few seasons have brought me, why bother? But I have been watching clips on YouTube.**

 **The three big complaints I have heard about this season are as follows.**

 **1) Everything about Oliver being arrested and investigated is $^ & because he could use his resources to derail the investigation and/or have the President pardon him.**

 **2) Criminal underuse of Slade.**

 **3) Tommy's return.**

 **2 and 3 I understand, but in all fairness, please remember I am hurting a lot doing this, it is not Guggenheim's fault.**

 ***Hears the guns cocking all around me. ***

 **WAIT. JUST HEAR ME OUT.**

 **Researching it, Guggenheim sounds just as disappointed as we all are that Slade was so underused. He wanted to use Slade more, but D.C. said no because of him being in the Cinematic Universe.**

 **And as for Tommy, well, fool you twice, shame on us. After the 100** **th** **episode, where my personal biggest complaint, out of a long list, was that we were promised Slade and got a cardboard cut out instead. But if anyone, myself included, had bothered to check, we might have been able to find out whether or not the ban on Slade had been lifted. I don't know if it was at that point, or if you could have found out or not, but Manu Bennett did also have a new series he was staring in.**

 **So, we already had an example of them using our love of a character to draw us in and forget logic. Both Slade and Tommy's actors are on a different show at the time as regulars, and both characters have a reason not to come back in full. Slade because of D.C. and Tommy because, let's be honest here, what possible reason could he have given for being gone for so long that we would believe. Tommy being in Aruba the last five years after Malcolm resurrected him, and he never called to say he was alive, I just couldn't buy it.**

 **And then there is reason number 1. That the whole thing with the feds is dumb because Oliver has connections and could just ask the President for a pardon.**

 **Actually, no. (Hear is where the pain comes)**

 **Guggenheim or whoever came up with this story was very smart. (Ouch). Something that surprisingly few people know is that the President can't pardon all crimes. The Pres can ONLY pardon Federal crimes, not local or state. The Governor of the state, for those who don't know, the governor is the President of the state, is the one who can pardon local and state level crimes. And so, because Oliver has, to my knowledge, no connection with the Governor, he could not just be pardoned.**

 **BUT, BUT BUT BUT, now that he is in Federal custody, he can be. The President has the power to pardon** **anyone** **of** **anything** **at** **any time** **as long as it is federal.**

 **BUT** **, that might also be the worst thing Oliver could do right now. (Never mind, I didn't know at the time of writing this part that Oliver had confessed on live T.V. he was the Green Arrow, so admitting he is guilty isn't really a problem, but I am leaving it in because who said fic couldn't be educational?)**

"The Supreme Court supplied a reason not to accept a pardon just over 100 years ago, in 1915, writing that a person who accepts such pardon is confessing guilt **because a pardon carries an imputation of guilt**. In other words, the person offered the pardon actually may reject the pardon from the President because he or she does not wish to admit guilt, even if accepting the pardon would extinguish any penalties related to the alleged crime. And, a presidential pardon does not erase or expunge the records of a conviction. **So, an individual's criminal history record will reflect both a conviction, if there is one, and the pardon**."

sites/jacobfrenkel/2017/07/21/president-trump-can-preemptively-pardon-his-advisors-and-family-but-will-he/#5777c0b66c3b

 **So, yeah, turns out there might be some intelligence in the making of Arrow.**

 **Felicity is still terrible. And what they did to Nyssa was appalling, I swear when I saw the clips with her I googled to make sure the plot of the episode wasn't about her having had her intelligence and soul stolen and team Arrow trying to find it.**

* * *

 **So, how is Oliver going to escape from Federal custody, well. I had one idea, but then I researched some stuff to make sure I was right and found the Forbes article, so it kind of threw a wrench in my plan.**

 **So, I changed it up a bit, and I hope you all like it.**

 **So, without further ado, my prediction (more or less) for 7x01 and how Oliver gets out of Federal custody.**

* * *

"Ever seen the Scarlet Pimpernel agent Watson?" Oliver asked as he and agent Watson sat in Iron Heights' interview room.

"Did you call me here to talk movies, Mr. Queen?"

"No, just wanting to provide some context." Oliver said. "In the movie, the 1982 version, Ian McKellen stars as Paul Chauvelin, this head of the police or something. His job is to bring in the Scarlet Pimpernel, who has been rescuing the aristocrats from the reign of terror. The Scarlet Pimpernel doesn't really bear Chauvelin any ill will, they are both men of duty, trying to do what they believe is right. But Chauvelin, he does bear the Pimpernel a lot of ill will. I hope that isn't the case here."

Watson smirked. "I don't hate you, Mr. Queen, just what you do. You open the door to anarchy; you play judge, jury, and executioner. And I can't allow that."

"Lance used to think that way too. He thought the law makes everything better." Oliver then chuckled a little. "Ever read your Bible agent Watson?"

"Are you about to give me a theology lecture?" Watson asked, not sure where this was going.

"No," Oliver said smirking. "I assume you're familiar with Daniel and the lion's den." Watson nodded. "According to the law of the Medes and Persians, any law the king wrote down and enacted could not be repealed or altered. All were bound to it for the rest of time. The logic being that the king was divine, and that meant any law he wrote must also be divine, and so there could be nothing wrong with the laws, and therefore no reason to change or remove them. That's why Daniel was thrown to the lions, even though the king wanted him to live because the law bound all and it could not change." He then motioned to the room they were in, limited by the cuffs he was in.

"And what, you're a modern Daniel?"

"Not exactly, I always thought of myself more like the Archangel Michael. Daniel was just a man doing the right thing, unwilling to bow to an unjust law, unafraid of the consequences that would come if he did not conform to the law the king had passed. I suppose this place does qualify as a lion's den." Oliver chuckled a little. "Now though, now I've decided to go back to what I was meant to be."

"And what is that?" Watson asked.

"A lion." Oliver said. "People forget, the lions weren't the villain in that story. The other advisors and rulers were the villains; the lions were just the consequences, and it was those same lions that eventually ate th. I tried to do it in the light, as a beacon of hope. Before I had hope." Oliver said, confusing Watson. "I dreamed of one day being able to hang up my bow, of having a normal life. I don't have that anymore, now all I have is nothing. So, I might as well be a lion, or maybe a Siberian Tiger, I haven't decided yet." He then stood up, extending his hands to shake. "Goodbye agent Watson. I shall be back, to haunt you." He said, and as they shook he leaned forward and whispered something. "Do avoid the firing squad." He then smiled as he left, being escorted by the guards.

What the hell did all that mean?

* * *

Watson was sitting at her desk, looking through files when her phone rang.

"Special Agent Samandra Watson."

"Agent Watson, warden Jackson, Iron Heights."

"Warden, what can I do for you." She asked, suddenly concerned.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news. A prison riot broke out a few hours ago, my men attempted to regain control, but something happened, there was an explosion, and Oliver Queen was killed."

This shocked Watson, so much that she didn't even speak.

"Watson, Watson, are you still there."

"How did he die?" She finally asked.

"Multiple stab wounds to the chest, not to mention some guards said they saw him getting the ever loving shit beat out of him. We found his body under a pile or ruble You could hardly ID the body, but the dental records confirm it was him."

"Are you sure, you haven't been hacked."

"We pulled the actual physical file on Queen, which was in my office under lock and key, and a copy in the med bay and in our off-site records, all three matches and confirmed it is him."

Watson just swallowed. "Thank you for your time warden." And she hung up.

It just did not seem possible. Oliver Queen just appeared to good to be beaten by some prison thugs.

 _'I have no hope.'_

No, it couldn't be?

 _'Goodbye agent Watson.'_

Could he have let them kill him, but why?

 _Knock, knock, knock._

"Yes."

"Sorry to bother you, mama." Some random agent said. "But we just received this from the DOJ." She handed Watson a vanilla envelope.

"What it is?"

"Not sure mama, just that it was marked urgent for you." Then the agent left.

Watson opened the envelope and then had to sit down.

It was impossible, it, it couldn't be.

A Presidential, bloody flippen, of all the stupid, raken-fraken, dang flabit, pardon.

And it was for Oliver Queen. A get out of jail free card that came a few hours too late.

Then Watson stopped and thought for a moment, the timing, it did seem just a little weird.

* * *

Watson was again at her desk a week later when a package arrived for her. It was from Queen's lawyers.

Opening it, expecting some form of legal documents, she instead found a DVD

The Scarlet Pimpernel. (1982) Was written on the disk, with a note.

~2:06:10

~2:08:11

What the hell was he getting at.

There was a letter from his lawyer.

 _To Special Agent Samandra Watson._

 _This copy of The Scarlet Pimpernel (1982) has been willed to you by Oliver Jonas Queen. To be given to you on the occasion of his death in Iron Heights, in the hopes you find it both illuminating and educational, as well as entertaining. As well as the accompanying note._

 _A good day to you._

It went on to list the law practice and so forth. Watson didn't really care; she was too curious as to why he had sent it.

She then looked up at the TV in her office, with a DVD player.

Well, it had been a slow day anyway.

* * *

How, what…

Either this was all a big joke, or somehow, he had done it.

There were two possibilities, either one seemed like something Olive Queen would do, but could he do it?

If it was the first, more likely solution, then he was relying on her to ensure it. But if not, if it was the second, then how did he do it.

But then the rest of their conversation came to mind. Bits and pieces, throw away comments, little things that seemed so out of place.

It took her a while to do research, looking over every angle, three times minimum, but she might have something.

But did she, it was possible, but could she just be looking for something that isn't there.

But, if she was right, on either of her ideas as to what this, may or may not be, then she had to.

"Dear God, I hate that man."

* * *

 **This is the first chap of a 3 part story.**

 **Please review (and see if anyone can guess the origin of the story title, the third chap** **should make it a dead give away.)**

 **P.S. The characters listed whould includ Diaz and Watson, but for some reason while this site has Judge Grell and Dr. Lamb as listed charactures, they are not. Don't ask me why.**


	2. Chapter 2

Russia. Siberia. Winter.

One of the lesser known facts of English grammar is that these three words can not be spoken without a severe amount of swearing. It was so cold someone had said you could spit and it would freeze before it hit the ground. Something Watson hadn't believed until she had spit and watched it shatter on the ground.

But she arrived. The Church of Saint Michael, the only one in all of Russia.

She entered and moved toward the back. In order to raise money, many cathedrals had art exhibits, holy works by the greatest artists of a generation, and you could put coins in a machine to turn on the lights to see better. And in the back of this church was a very particular painting, hidden behind the altar.

Watson put a few coins into the machine, then stepped back to look at it. It was amazing.

Daniel and the Lion's Den.

"Fascinating picture, isn't it?" A voice said, ruff and old sounding.

Watson turned to see a man sitting on a bench, hunched over with grey hair peeking out from underneath the hood of a large, green, jacket. "Yes, stunning."

"It's amazing, This could be one of the most famous Bible stories in the whole Bible, yet there is only ever been four painters who have tried to depict it."

"Really?"

"Yes. Makes it a nice place to meet old friends, if they can figure out what you're talking about." The man then looked up, and Watson saw the face of Oliver Queen staring her in the face, very much alive.

"How did you do it?"

"Do what."

"Fake your death, how could you have done it?"

"Iron Heights isn't known for its guards being beyond taking a bribe. You forget, Starling was my city for a long time, I still have the occasional friend. I convinced a guard to replace my dental records in the infirmary with that of a cadaver I bought from a medical school technician years ago who had something of a drug problem and needed some cash."

"But, the warden's office."

"The warden is a nice, but lonely man, I had an old friend pay him a visit. She played a stripper a few times before, so she managed to get a job at a club the warden frequents after a long days work. Took some time, she got his trust, and he wanted to show off, and maybe live out a fantasy involving his desk."

"And the off-site hard copy?"

"I know a guy; I helped him overcome some daemons and find his son, very good at getting into a place undetected. I loaned him a technological skeleton key to help him get in past the electronic doors, not that he needed it."

"And how did you get the body into the prison?"

"It never was," Oliver said. "It was in the sewer, the blast brought the floor down, and then it was just mixed in with the others burning bodies. A few stab wounds helped sell it."

"But, how did you know, that would have taken months to plan?"

"I knew that I was a marked man the moment I arrived. I knew it would only take so long before they realized they couldn't kill me with a shiv. I knew there were only so many other options, so I had a friend hack the audio system and have the songs changed to have a more, explosive, theme. And have words like burn and boom inserted underneath the announcements. They took the hint and made arrangements for explosives to be smuggled in. I had my own explosion lying in wait, and so all I had to do was wait for them to get what they needed."

"So now, anyone on the outside will think it was an assassination attempt gone wrong. That they got caught in the blast on accident instead."

"Yes. Starting the riot was the easy part, a few bribes and some of the guards weren't at their posts, and in prison, you notice those types of things. A few off handed comments, and we had a riot. I managed to slip out a small controlled blast got me down into the underground of the prison, and then the main one went off ten seconds later to cover my exit."

"So, everything was planned, every t was crossed, and every i got a dot," Watson said, impressed she had to admit. "But why tell me of all people, out of literally every other person in your life, why me?"

"You're a good actor. Diggle, despite the years of training, is only so-so in his ability. And Felicity, God help her, couldn't hide what she was getting a five-year-old for his birthday. And William, he doesn't need his life complicated. I needed their reaction to my death to be genuine. But at the same time, I need someone to keep an eye on them, make sure they don't do anything foolish. Someone I can trust."

"And you trust me."

"I, trust your sense of duty, and justice. I'm beyond your reach now, in more ways than one, so you won't try and get me. You will keep your word, and watch over my family. And I know you will only reveal my living if it is necessary."

"And what will you do?"

"Become a ghost. I will do as my training taught me, I will become a shadow of justice, a silent destroyer of evil."

"You know I will stop you."

"You only stopped me before because I got too loud, too noisy, I made the mistake of stepping out of the shadows and trying to fight in the light of day. I won't make that mistake again." Oliver said, smiling a little. "But, I'd like to make you an offer."

"Offer?"

"Yes? You have done a good job, dismantling Diaz's network and taking down his influence."

"But?"

"But, no matter how efficient you have been, you haven't been able to get close to the man himself. Every time you peel back a layer of his organization, all you find is another middleman. If you want to beat him, you need someone who can strike directly at him, in a more permanent way."

"You want to kill him."

"Yes. But I will only do that if you ask me to, if he threatens my son, or if your chances to catch him disappear."

Watson looked the man in the eye for a moment, measuring him, trying to get a read. "Why? Why not just kill him? Why ask permission?"

Oliver took a moment to answer. "You earned my respect, and I want you to have your chance to catch him, your way."

Watson thought it over. "Thank you, but no, I will do this my way."

Oliver nodded in understanding, and he then stood up. "Well then. Have a good life detective. I hope when we meet again, it will not be as enemies." He then moved to leave.

"What's to stop me bringing you in right now?" Watson asked.

"Your sense of justice, not to mention, we are in a church in Russia. I don't think you would try and arrest me. Or be able to." Oliver then left.

* * *

 **mjf2468: Thank you very much for being my first, and only, reviewer. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.**

 **Only one more to go people.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I am just a little bit disappointed; no one guessed where the title came from, no one even tried. After this chap, if you know the source, then it should be obvious, but if not, then here is one more clue.**

 **The actors that play the big bads of Season 6, Cayden James and Diaz both play characters in this show, the first is the main character and very similar, the second is only once seen during Season 3.**

* * *

Ricardo Diaz lay in a hospital bed; both hands were in cuffs, they weren't taking any chances. Three years he had fought the FBI, and now he had lost.

The battle had been long and hard. He had killed a dozen witnesses against him, restructured his whole organization four times. Blown a bloody FBI field office to kingdom come to destroy evidence, and he had hoped to discourage any other agents from joining the fight.

But Agent Watson had never backed down. It seemed she had a sixth sense when it came to rats because he never managed to get one very far into the FBI.

And then there were the somewhat suspicious deaths.

Some a Diaz's business partners had tried to run, hiding from the FBI and/or him. They had all ended up dead, or so he had thought. Marcus was found in a drug den in Cambodia. Snake was strung up in Siberia. And Patters, Diaz had sent him into hiding in Russia, hoping he could sure up some support in that cold nation. He had been found, burned alive in a safe house in St. Petersburg, his fingers, the nails ripped out, had been found in a box around his neck.

It might have been helpful, making others know that they couldn't hide from him if it weren't for the fact that he could not take credit for the killings. Whoever had done this made sure of that, writing in the blood of the victims that 'Serving the Dragon is Death'. They even used the blood of past victims in following messages, making sure everyone knew they were connected.

At first, when his men realized they couldn't run, they fought harder. But then men started dying in their sleep. At first, they were violent deaths, really violent. Heads found between the legs of whores the men had the night before, and their headless bodies found 'sleeping' next to them. Hang them by their own intestines. Skinned alive and then dismembered.

That had been the real nail in the coffin for him. When his men started to realize working for him was as dangerous as not working for him and that hiding wasn't an option, the FBI began flipping them like pancakes.

Diaz didn't really have any regrets, he of all people knew that you should not expect to live long or safe in his chosen profession. But he did regret not killing whoever it was that had been targeting his operation. There had been whispers of course, usually on lips stinking of alcohol and attached to men with track-marked arms. Hints of a man that Diaz of all people knew was dead.

Diaz would have loved if it was him, killing Oliver Queen twice would have been fun. But none of the crime scenes had a single arrow and no signs of a man in a green hood. The Bogyman, Baba Yaga, as his men had taken to calling him, not in front of him of course as he would have shot them, but he knew they did. He was not Oliver Queen.

Even if he thought Oliver could have survived, the deaths, they had a certain, brutality. Oliver Queen was many things, but he wasn't the type to do what Baba Yaga did, Oliver was clean, he had a refined smoothness to his actions, his kills. Baba Yaga was messy; if Queen was a Degas or a Rembrandt, Baba Yaga was a Picasso at best and a Pollock at worst. He beat peoples head in with rocks and staplers, stabbed them with pens and pencils through their eyes a dozen times after a person was dead.

One time, he peeled the skin from the bones of four victims and used it as a tablecloth, set the organs of his victims out as dishes, and set their skeletons at a table, like they were having dinner.

Whoever it was, he had been a constant thorn in Diaz's side, though not the largest one.

The honor of being his biggest problem was held by Agent Samandra Watson. She never stopped, for all those years, no matter who he killed, so eventually, he had to kill her.

I had been hard, yet at the same time so easy. Diaz knew he was going down, so why not go out with a bang? Literally.

Diaz knew he couldn't hang on much longer; the noose was to tight, so he let slip his location to the FBI and laid a trap for them. The plan had been to die with them in the explosion, but it seemed his hard-earned survival instincts were a bit harder to shake than he first thought.

He survived, but at least the bitch didn't. She was finally dead, and Diaz was in the hospital with several broken bones and a charred stump for a left hand. He wasn't delusional enough to believe he would, or even could, get out of this, but it had been a good run.

He must have dozed off for a little while. Ironic, how easy it was for him to sleep here. He had not had a good night sleep in years, but in a hospital room with FBI agents guarding his door, in every hallway, standing in every corner and junction, and even in front of and in the elevators and stairways, at the end of the line, he slept well. He knew they wouldn't kill him, they wanted to make an example of him, and some wanted the information still in his head.

The FBI wasn't stupid, they knew he had useful information, and he still had some loyal lieutenants left, if Diaz could give the FBI what they needed to take out the competition, his men could rebuild.

The Feds wouldn't kill him.

When he woke, he felt something was off. He knew someone was there.

"Don't worry Diaz; it's only me."

For a long moment, probably because of the drugs in his system, Diaz couldn't place the voice. And when he did, he honestly thought he had died in his sleep. He looked into the shadows and saw someone sitting in a chair, right on the line where the light ended, and the dark began. "Queen?"

Out of the shadows he came, the devil himself sat in that chair, Diaz's personal demons all in one man, back from the dead to haunt him.

Oliver Queen.

Diaz just started laughing. It hurt, by golly did it hurt, his broken ribs shook in pain that even the morphine couldn't hide. And people say there is no God; he could kill them all, because only God could have such a sense of humor. "Queen, you're… you're alive." He started laughing again. "So, Baba Yaga? Really?"

"Not my idea."

"No, not your style, Green Arrow."

"Dragon." Oliver fired back.

"Fair enough," Diaz said, chuckling again. "So, you were the one, all this time you were the one coming for me?"

"No, Agent Watson was the one who came for you, I merely helped here and there when I could." Oliver then picked up a sack. "I also clean up after she left." He then turned the sack over and out spilled the head of Diaz's few remaining lieutenants. "I believe these were yours."

There was a time not so long ago such a sight would have made the crime boss mad. Now, he just shrugged off the death of his men. All in all, Diaz would have been more surprised if Queen hadn't killed them all. "What do you want, I'm in here, whatever was left of my operation is dead, as you know. Nothing left to do but rub my face in it."

"Not really my style."

"So then, why the hell are you here?"

"Well, there remains a debt." Oliver said, neither smiling nor frowning, his face as impassive as if discussing the weather. "Civilization rests on the principle that we treat our criminals, better then they treated their victims, that we not stoop to their level. But you and I are outliers; we're not really apart of the civilization, were something." Oliver paused for a moment, as if he had rehearsed this speech 100 times but only now knew the perfect word to use here. "Older. Which means we can do the things civilized people can't. I offered to kill you many times for Agent Watson, and she always said no. She was civilized, right to the very end. I don't think she liked me very much, but I liked her. You killed her, not out of necessity or gain, but out of spite. So now I consider it my responsibility to fix the particular problem that is you, Ricardo Diaz."

"You're going to kill me, now, dishonor her memory by going against what she wanted."

Oliver chuckled. "Wrong on two counts. I told her I would kill you, if catching you ever went beyond her reach, so by killing her, you removed any protection she offered you."

"And the second?" Diaz asked.

"I'm not going to kill you, my friend is, I'm just going to watch."

Then out of the shadows came a large man, full body armor with a garrote. Diaz barely had any time to look at his half orange, half black mask, to star into this monster's one dead eye, before the wire was cutting into his throat, cutting off his air, and his head.

And the only sound left in the room was of Ricardo Diaz flatlining.

* * *

 **Thank you lanteaddicted1 for your review.**

 **And that is the end of that, and who knows, maybe in 48 or so hours 7x01 will air, and I will be right, and this will be how season 7 (and I guess 10 as this chapter takes place 3 years after season 7) goes.**

 **The Answer to what inspired this story is Episode 3x10 of _Person_ or _Interest_.  
**


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